


Angels & Demons

by KLStarre



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Canon, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 21:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KLStarre/pseuds/KLStarre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At this point, there's no use pretending any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels & Demons

They were out to dinner, a week or two after averting the Apocalypse. Crowley had suggested the Ritz, but Aziraphale, being the angel he was, had insisted that they go to this little café. “It’s just opened, the poor dears have been wanting a restaurant their whole lives, we could help someone’s dream come true,” was about all Crowley could take before giving in.

They were, unfortunately, not the only ones there, so Crowley’s sunglasses and leather were drawing odd looks. Although, admittedly, they were better than the incredulous stares being directed towards Aziraphale’s tartan.

There were candles on their table, and every time Crowley tried to transform them into something more interesting-like blood drenched daggers- Aziraphale would change them back, with a mild admonition. Crowley honestly didn’t understand why, and said so, to which Aziraphale replied, “Dear, you can’t just go around changing candles into weapons. It’s rude.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses, and for a moment they looked like a snake’s, before reverting back to their usual reddish brown. “For Go- for Sata- for someone’s sake, angel, I’m a demon! I’m supposed to be rude!”

“Yes, alright, but there’s no reason to be like that. The owners of this restaurant are trying very hard, and-“

Crowley raised his eyebrows, interrupting. “Not my fault they don’t Hellproof their candles.”

“Really, dear, I think that’s going a bit too far. I mean-“

Aziraphale was interrupted once again by the arrival of someone coming to take their order. The waiter was young and blonde, and he looked far too nervous for someone with the simple task of serving food. Of course, that might’ve been helped a bit by the fact that Crowley had taken off his sunglasses and allowed his eyes to go snakelike before Aziraphale kicked him under the table.

After a couple of seconds of Crowley staring at him, the terrified youth stuttered out something that may, conceivably, have been a request for their orders.

Before Crowley could make him repeat it, Aziraphale, speaking calmly and clearly, ordered some vegetarian meal-he never could stomach killing animals to eat- and then looked at Crowley, his eyes saying that there would be problems if he tortured the poor boy any more.

Instead, Crowley rolled his eyes, looked down at the menu, and then shrugged, looking at Aziraphale. “Wine, angel?”

The waiter looked between the two of them, probably confused at the lack of affection usually associated with that particular pet name, but he snapped back to a semblance of professionalism when Aziraphale waved a recently manicured hand. “Oh, go on then.”

“Um. What kind of, um, what kind do you want?”

Crowley grinned, teeth showing. “Surprise us,” he said, his tone of voice making it abundantly clear that there would be-excuse the pun- hell to pay if he screwed up. “And I’ll have the… burger, I suppose. Rare.”

The waiter bobbed his head hurriedly, then retreated as quickly as was socially acceptable. As soon as he was out of earshot, Aziraphale spoke. “Really, dear, was that necessary?”

Crowley shrugged, putting his sunglasses back on. “Probably not. But it’ll get us our food faster.”

Aziraphale sighed, likely realising that there wasn’t anything he could do. There was silence for a few minutes, then, neither awkward nor comfortable, but something in between, before Aziraphale spoke again. “Why do you call me angel?”

Crowley leaned back in chair, rocking onto the back two legs, exuding casualness as his fist slowly clenched under that table the way it always did when he was nervous. “What do you mean? I’ve been calling you angel for 4000 years.”

“Yes, I know, but why? You’ve met plenty of others and you always call them by their names. Besides, you must know the way the humans use it.”

The front legs of Crowley’s chair clattered to the floor as he blessed under his breath. Apparently Aziraphale wasn’t as oblivious as Crowley thought. “You really want to know why I call you angel?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“It’s to remind myself that I shouldn’t do this.” He leaned forward, across the table, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. The edge of the table cut into his stomach and at first he thought Aziraphale was going to pull away but then he leaned in and Crowley reached over to cup his face in his hand and-knocked over a glass of water.

It splashed all over him, and he jumped back involuntarily, not even realising what he was doing. His black t-shirt was now soaking wet, as was Aziraphale’s white button-down one, and everyone was staring at them.

Crowley sighed, waving a hand, and it was as if a cloud passed through the heads of all the people staring and they turned away, resuming their conversations as he and Aziraphale fell back into their seats. “Crowley! You can’t just erase people’s memories!”

He grinned in response, leaning forward and tapping his fingers on the table. “Sorry, angel. Would kissing you again make up for it?”


End file.
